


and the joke's on you

by Kam_fr



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Captivity, Confused and confusing identities, Hive Mind, Interspecies Romance, Kaiju Newton Geiszler, M/M, Mistreatment, Platonic Romance, Prejudice Against Kaiju, Slow Burn, and convoluted use of pronouns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kam_fr/pseuds/Kam_fr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newton dies during his first Drift. Except he kind of doesn't.<br/>OR<br/>Newton contracts an acute case of be-careful-what-you-wish-for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flaming Telepaths

**Author's Note:**

> Title and chapter titles are from Blue Oyster Cult songs.  
> This work is unbetaed and wasn't written by a native English speaker. If you have any advice to help me improve my writing, it would be greatly appreciated.

Newt adjusts the contraption on his head, sinks the electrode in the spongy kaiju brain matter, and Drifts.

There is no blue, no rapid slideshow of memories. Instead there is a network, minds entwined together until there is no telling where one ends and the other begins, a great web that bends and twists to accommodate him. Suddenly he ceases being Newt, human, individual, and becomes a simple thought in a sprawling conscience that has never needed to introduce itself to others, but would maybe choose to designate itself as Those-at-the origin-of-everything, or more simply the Precursors. It is a revelation, and it is what it has always known. It has two bodies, now, one a brain floating in a nutritive solution, ten pounds of neurons and synapses at its disposal, and one a fragile human frame slumped on a chair, seizing. It used to have more, billions more, but they are inaccessible to it now, left behind a temporarily closed rift. It is harrowing, this lack, like the amputation of more than half its being, but it can bear it. For the good of the whole, for the future satisfaction of its ever increasing needs. It has a mission, kill and destroy, eliminate the maximum of the pests standing between it and this world’s resources. It is fortunate that the human Newt attempted this Drift, for now it once again has a functioning – if less than ideal – body it can use to complete its task.

Except he doesn’t want to. They’re not pests, they’re humans. Sure, some of them are assholes, but that’s his own fucking species we’re talking about here ! Or, actually, that’s debatable now, but at least he feels a kinship to them that can’t be denied. Half of him grew up as a human, among them, formed attachments, feels the atavistic urge to ensure his species’s continued survival, the more personal drive to protect the individuals he knows.

It is a paralyzing paradox, this struggle between two contradictory opinions that still somehow both belong to it/him, this equally strong yearning for two futures excluding one another. It/he does not know how much time is spent adrift in this state of cognitive dissonance before it/he notices something wrong. It takes it/him a few seconds to pinpoint the source of the disturbance. One of its/his bodies, the human one, is distressed. The repartition of thoughts must not have been optimal, or maybe it is simply the hazardous, experimental nature of this Drift that makes Newt’s body incapable to withstand it. It is failing rapidly, has probably been in a critical state for a while before it/he managed to divert its/his attention from its/his inner struggle to notice the problem. The brain’s neurotransmitters are firing randomly, in disorderly panic, the muscles contract and relax in spastic succession, and it/he doesn’t know how to make it stop. The body is damaging itself no no no no it/he can’t lose it it’s his it needs it !

Distantly, obscured by the haze of fear and pain, it/he hears footsteps punctuated by the sharp clang of a cane. Leisurely walking at first, then rushing to the body’s side. There is a voice, shouting something that it/he cannot make out. Hands grab the Pons on his head, and – _what are you doing idiot, no don’t do that_ – pull. The connection snaps. Then, darkness and silence.

 

It/he mourns. The end of the life of Newton Geiszler, who never got to be a rockstar, and the end of the utility of the creature the humans named Yamarashi. The loss of his senses, and the loss of the minds it once shared. It/he is diminished, amputated of all it/he once was. A cut up brain in a tank.

Time has no meaning in the absence of external and internal stimuli. In this eternity of unchanging darkness, there is nothing to do but think.

Thinking is… difficult. It/he exists in a state of constant duality that makes forming coherent trains of thoughts impossible : every reflexion sparks two opposed reactions, different thought patterns derail every reasoning in two irreconcilable directions. Every attempt tears it/himself apart, and if it/he had a mouth, it/he would scream it/himself hoarse. But it is still better than never-ending nothingness, so it/he keeps on trying.

It is unbearable, but there is no choice but to bear it. It cannot go on. One side has to give.

The Precursors-part does. It is unclear why, or at least the conscious residing in a kaiju brain sample is in too much pain and confusion to determine why. Maybe because the Precursors-part, cut off from the rest of its network, is only a shadow of itself. Maybe because it cannot endure its forced inactivity, does not see the point of existing if it cannot fulfill its mission. Maybe because Newton Geiszler is a survivor, would never let some little things like hellish pain and eternal torment quash his will to live.

In any case, the pain of thinking eases gradually. The being created by the Drift manages some beginning of introspection, and finds that while it/he may not technically be him, it/he feels more like Newton Geiszler than an alien hivemind. Also, it/he decides to refer to it/himself as a he, because this pronoun stuff is getting really annoying. Fuck exactitude anyway. He still has all of the Precursors’ memories, but they feel more distant, faded and blurry at the edges. At the contrary, the memories of Newt’s life are fresh and the emotions they evoke powerful. The image of his body slumping in Hermann’s arms, Hermann searching for a pulse and not finding it, is heart-wrenching (or, you know, would be if he still had a heart, except not really because it’s a metaphor anyway). He wonders how his death (or imprisonment in an alien brain, if you are willing to ignore the addition of memories spanning millennia and dormant murderous impulses, and consider that he really is Newton Geiszler) will alter the outcome of the war against the kaiju. He now knows that Operation Pitfall won’t work, they’ll never get the rift to open without the right genetic make-up, but he can’t warn them. They’ll try and fail, and when they finally realise it’s no use, will they be able to shift gears and find another solution ? And let’s get real, it isn’t the fancy Jaegers’ pilots who will, the most they can do is buy a little time, so with Newt gone, all the pressure will rest on Hermann’s shoulders. How will he fare ? Is it narcissism to hope that he might miss Newt ? And Mako and Tendo and Pentecost and Herc and Chuck and even new guy Raleigh, will they spare a thought for him or be way too busy ensuring the world doesn’t end ? Newt wonders whether someone remembered to tell his father and Uncle Illia. Maybe Tendo, he’s thoughtful like that. Did he also inform his mother ? Did she care ?

Maybe it’s better that he can’t see the reactions of the people around him, doesn’t know whether they’re grieving for him or forgetting him. Both would be equally painful anyway. One other upside : now he won’t have to witness either humanity’s or the kaiju’s extermination.

It’s a scant consolation.

 

Descartes once said _think therefore I am_.

Newt’s never liked him much, too rigid and proper for his liking, but it’s like he wrote this sentence for people trapped in kaiju brains, it’s so fucking appropriate. Because Newt’s literally nothing but thoughts right now.

He’s so scared that if he stops thinking, he will stop existing. He used to think that not thinking of anything was impossible, but here, with absolutely no external distractions, it suddenly seems much more likely.

So he thinks. Loudly. About anything. It reminds him of listening to hard rock at full volume in the lab for the sole purpose of pissing Hermann off (because Newt has _mastered_ the subtle art of passive-aggressiveness). Of course, that leads him to imagining the lab now, silent but for the screech of Hermann’s chalk against his blackboard. Does he relish the silence, or does he miss Newt’s music, at least a little ? Has he cleaned Newt’s side of the lab of all Kaiju innards as he threatened to do so many times before, or is the mess left untouched like a bizarre shrine to his dead co-worker ?

Decidedly, Newt seems incapable of having a train of thoughts that doesn’t take a turn for the depressing. Every topic reminds him of pleasures that are lost to him, people that he will miss or scientific mysteries that he will never get to solve. He just wants to curl up in his bed and go to sleep, but he has no body to curl up with and the very idea of sleeping (or the equivalent of sleeping for disembodied consciousnesses) sends through him a sharp jolt of fear at the perspective of never awakening again. He’s so tired, though. Right now the fear of death outweighs the weariness, but how long will that last ? He can picture it so clearly : an eternity of rehashing the same stale thoughts over and over, with no expectations of change, the hopelessness wearing him down gradually until oblivion seems the better option, until continuation of life doesn’t seem so important after all. Until Newton Geiszler truly disappears. It seems so bone-chillingly likely. If nothing changes –

The Breach opens.

 

WHOLE, IT IS WHOLE AGAIN –

For a second it is right where it should, complete again, drinks in the rightness of the connection like a plant soaking up light. It has multiple bodies again, and the feel of air against its skins is so good –

The Breach closes.

The separation is like dying all over again. It is left reeling in the middle of the Pacific, bodies convulsing in mental pain. It wants to shout its anguish at being left alone, but manages to remember the necessity for silence. It cannot disclose its presence before it is ready to pounce, will reveal itself at the last moment to take the pests off guard and slaughter as many of them as it can before it is stopped.

The reminder of its mission is enough to stop its shaking and make it move. It glides in the water, strong muscles propelling it forward smoothly, effortlessly. It may be cut off from the rest of itself by the closed Breach, but at least it now has two perfect bodies so that it may continue to fight for their cause. They are swift and agile in the water to get through the humans’ defences and reach their target, dark with imposing spikes and facial crests to strike fear in the heart of the enemy, with sharp claws and teeth to rend the humans to shreds. The attack unit has a powerful tail and virulent acid to destroy the humans’ metal structures, and wings to engage in aerial combat. The support unit has the ability to shut down the humans’ pesky technology. Truly, they are beautiful, their form completely adapted to their purpose.

It is now nearing the human colony that was designated as its next target, and its blood sings in anticipation of the coming fight. The humans’ Protectors are waiting in the harbour, two large clumsy husks of metal. They fight fiercely, but they are no match for the masterpieces of the Precursors’ genetic engineering. Soon, the three-armed one is crushed by the grappling tail of the attack unit and discarded at the bottom of the ocean. The bulky one has been weakened by its acidic secretions, and the support unit chooses this moment to join the fight, using a surprise attack to destroy its power source. A third Protector intervenes, but it is blocked by the attack unit while the support unit finishes off the bulky one. The new arrival is strong and more rested than the attack unit, and it manages to land a few devastating blows before throwing its dazed adversary towards the city. Thankfully, the support unit still has its ace : its electromagnetic pulse, which disables the Protector, allowing the attack unit to disengage and race towards the human settlement. The support unit stays back, intending to end its fallen enemy permanently, but yet another Protector interposes itself. The unit roars in frustration, but throws itself into the fight. It has to keep the Protectors busy, while the attack unit fulfills their objective of destruction.

Meanwhile, the attack unit has reached the city. It wrecks its surroundings methodically, smashing buildings, crushing roads and flinging cars left and right. It is badly hurt from its previous battles, and it can feel the fourth Protector’s powerful blows against the support unit’s thick scales, but it can barely feel the pain under the feeling of accomplishment. Each human structure destroyed is a step closer to the eradication of the pests, to the appropriation of this world and the enjoyment of its resources. Yet a feeling of growing unease mars its joy. For no discernible reason, it is filled with an increasing reluctance to keep on its path of devastation. It realizes that for the past few minutes, it has turned away from the streets full of fleeing humans, where its rampaging would have done the most casualties, and is keeping to the already deserted areas. It is illogical, it is _inefficient_ , but even the thought of exterminating more humans makes it ill.

The feeling of the support unit’s dorsal spine snapping jolts it out of its inner turmoil. It has no time to indulge in strange misgivings, the other body has fallen and it will be the Protector’s next target .It has to do as much damage as it can before that. It resumes its task, but its every movement is slow and clumsy. It forces itself to head towards large concentrations of humans, steels itself to hear their screams as they die under its feet, when something stops it in its tracks. It’s a human, just a simple human lost in the mass of people running away. He is lagging behind, jostled from all sides as he runs awkwardly on feeble legs. Suddenly, a more forceful shove makes him lose his balance and he falls hard on the concrete. A wooden stick – a cane – is pried from his hand and lands several feet away from him. The mob goes on around him, nobody stopping to help him up, and the attack unit feels a bewildering anger at that fact. It stalks closer, ignoring the panicked shouts of the crowd, and lowers its head at the man’s level. The human is petrified, all alone now that the surrounding people have fled. Suddenly, he snaps out of its terrified paralysis and frantically tries to crawl away. The sight makes something tighten in the attack unit’s insides. Slowly, carefully, it extends its tongue towards the man and wraps it around his shoulders, exercising a gentle pressure to prop him upright. The human stands very still in its grip, face drained of all colours and hands shaking. It strikes the attack unit as wrong, but it doesn’t know why or how to fix it.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps alerts the attack unit to the arrival of the Protector. It is strangely reluctant to leave, but it knows it must engage the enemy, so it retracts its tongue and turns away. The Protector – Gypsy Danger, it recalls, but cannot understand why it feels so important – is holding a large ship in its hand, that it seems intent on using as a weapon. The idea is surprisingly… _cool_. The Protector uses it to repel every attack, which is getting really annoying, so the attack unit grasps it with its tail and flings it away. They trade a few more blows, but the Protector is strong and the attack unit’s wounds ache, and it realises that it will not win in a frontal battle. It escapes, using its superior speed and agility to disappear in a cluster of skyscrapers. After that, it is child’s play to surprise the large robot and send it flying into an adjacent building. The attack unit then pounces on the Protector, bringing its acid-filled mouth to its metal husk. The other tries to go for the throat, but the unit winds its tail around its head to immobilize it, and tightens. The steel groans and caves slightly. Victory is near. Just a little more pressure and the metal head will fold on itself, crushing the humans inside and depriving humanity of its last defence. It must be a painful way to die. So slow, hearing the structure around them give and knowing they are next, that their bodies are going to be compressed beyond recognition… Mako’s small frame will break so easily, and the Marshall will find nothing but a bloody pulp inside the remnants of one of the machines he dedicated his life to. So sad, that such a tragedy has to happen. But why ? Mako doesn’t deserve to die. Her co-pilot, despite not being very intelligent, doesn’t deserve to die. It is necessary. But is it ? Humans stand in the way. But they just want to live. And _I_ want them to live.

Faces flash through his mind : Mako, Pentecost, that new Raleigh guy, Hermann, Tendo, Dad and Illia… The vice crushing the Jaeger’s head loosens slightly.

The Kaiju – because he is a _Kaiju_ , a great, splendid beast, not a biologic weapon yielded by a greedy hivemind civilisation – steps away from the fallen Jaeger. He ignores the part of his being that lives in subservience to a larger collective, that cannot even conceive of disobeying its orders, and chooses to spare Gypsy Danger.

And then Newt opens his wings, and soars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Newton-Precursors POV was very difficult to write, and I'm worried it isn't very understandable, with the two parts fighting for dominance and the constant body-hopping. Please tell me if you're confused by it, and especially if you've got an idea to make it clearer. Next chapters should be much more straightforward.  
> So, like it ? Hate it ? In any case, I'd really like your feedback !


	2. Astronomy

“Ah, Hermann, perfect. I wanted to talk to you.”

Hermann likes and admires Stacker Pentecost. The man is a great leader, a model of rigor and efficiency, and an intelligent and open-minded man. Right now, he also is the only person in the whole Shatterdome who doesn’t treat him like a terminally ill patient simply because he is crippled and has been found unconscious in Hong Kong’s streets a few hours ago.

(Newton wouldn’t have either. Newton would have mocked him mercilessly.)

Hermann tries to convey all his gratitude in a crisp salute and sits in the comfortable chair in front of the Marshall’s desk. “Sir ?”

Never inclined to beat around the bush, Pentecost asks : “Did you manage to find Mr Chau ?”

“Yes”, answers Hermann reluctantly. He knows he has done all he can, has nothing to feel ashamed for, but the words are still hard to utter : “He… he refused your proposition, sir.”

“I see. Is there absolutely no way to change his mind ?”

“I don’t think so. The man doesn’t think we have a chance. He prefers building luxurious shelters and amassing goods to prepare for the kaiju’s invasion than working with us to stop it”, says Hermann with clear disgust. “Enough money might convince him, but it would require much more than we have.”

“A pity.”

The Marshall’s voice is carefully neutral, but the weary slope of his shoulders shows the toll the last days have taken on him.

His voice suddenly hardens : “Is he the reason you were found unconscious ?”

Hermann grimaces. While Chau had chosen... rather forceful means of displaying his refusal, he had in the end left Hermann unharmed on his way to the communal shelter (“You’ll have the opportunity to see where all you bleeding hearts will end up, when all your so-called solutions have failed. Me, I’ll be weathering the attacks safe in my personal bunker, with provisions for several years. I’ll be seeing you… maybe.”). What had happened after, though… He shivers, remembering the hulking figure towering above him, impossibly dark against the night sky, tiny yellow lights on its snout like the headlights of a train rushing towards him. The fluorescent blue of its tongue, long and delicate and trapping him, _tasting_ him, its easy strength as it lifted him from the ground. He remembers not feeling ready to die but knowing it was happening anyway. He only vaguely recalls the beast moving, releasing him, and him crumpling on the ground, his legs incapable to carry him. He woke up in the Shatterdome’s infirmary, and couldn’t even feel relief for a moment, just sheer incomprehension at still being alive.

It’s absolutely impossible to convey all that with words, but he awkwardly tries : “It isn’t… it wasn’t him. We separated after the kaiju alert. I was going to a shelter, but I… was too slow. It was there… the kaiju. It… came close. I thought… But Gypsy Danger distracted it. The shock probably made me lose consciousness.”

It seems silly, when told to this man, this warrior, who met kaiju head on and killed them, but Hermann refuses to feel shame. So he froze instead of running away, or fighting back. So he would have died if not for some very fortunate timing. It’s not like anyone expected otherwise. He’s never going to be one of them, these heroes who face danger without blinking, and he’s made his peace with it. It still rankles, sometimes, but he has outgrown his childish dreams of heroism. He’s never going to have that kind of strength, but it’s fine. He’s got other talents, can still be useful in different ways. 

But Pentecost doesn’t seem faintly amused, or compassionate. His eyes are trained on Hermann, intent, interested : “You saw it. How was it acting ? Did you notice anything peculiar ?”

Taken aback, Hermann goes through his memories of the encounter again. Truth is, the most surprising thing is that he’s still alive to recount it, but after a second look, there are other oddities.

“It came from a perpendicular street, and at first it seemed to be going straight ahead, but it suddenly stopped. It stayed still for at least ten seconds, looking in the direction I was in. And then it stalked towards me – well, not me per see, but in my direction.”

Except it had felt as though the kaiju was moving towards Hermann, specifically. He could feel that gaze trained on him, and the kaiju stopping in front of him was like a foregone conclusion. Like the beast had seen _him_ from fifty meters away and thought _prey_. Except that was ridiculous : why would it have focused on Hermann in particular ? Maybe it had sensed his weakness. That was possible, that it would have chosen to go for Hermann because he was the most vulnerable human in the vicinity.

“So you think it noticed something that made it change course ?” asks Pentecost, brows furrowed.

“Well, that’s what it looked like, yes. And there is another thing. After it turned, instead of keeping on rampaging, it… Well, I had fallen at the time, which may have appealed to its predatory instincts. It stopped, focused on me, and was going to… eat me. Thankfully Gypsy arrived then. But, well, I don’t recall any kaiju eating people in the previous attacks.”

(Newton flailing around with his recorder in one hand, speaking in Hermann’s direction even though the mathematician was steadfastly ignoring him : “But it’s so _strange_ , you know ? Animals don’t do this sort of things. They’re not even _eating people_. Stomping on them, and crushing buildings, and breaking bridges, yes, but that’s not going to feed them ! So they’re not hunting. It’s more like, they’re having fun, they’re playing, like a child trashing a sandcastle, see what I mean ?”)

The Marshall stays silent for a moment, then asks in an apparent non sequitur : “Do you know what happened after you passed out ?”

“Well, I came here directly after being released from the infirmary.” Hermann falls silent for a few seconds, then continues, his tone sombre : “I was informed by Nurse Meiko of the Kaidonovskys’ and the Wei brothers’ passing, though. But I believe Ms. Mori, Mr Becket and the Hansens are alright… ?”

“Yes, they are. It was a close thing, though. Gypsy Danger was in a very difficult position when the kaiju – I think this one was christened Otachi – fled.”

That was… That made _no sense_. 

“In the middle of combat ? While it was _winning_ ?”

“Yes. It deployed previously unnoticed wings and flew back to the ocean.” The Marshall looks almost offended, as if the beast had personally snubbed him. It would be comical if not for the deep wrinkle of worry creasing his forehead. 

“It went back through the rift, then… ?”

“No, there was no evidence of the Breach opening. We lost its trace when it went past the continental shelf, these things are practically invisible in deep water. The closest coastal cities have been alerted, and our remaining pilots are on stand-by for the next twenty-two hours. But it hasn’t made a move yet.”

Pentecost sighs deeply and leans towards Hermann, putting both his elbows on his desk. He continues, voice suddenly passionate :

“Do you know why we’ve been able to defend ourselves as long as we have ? Because we’re able to predict the kaiju’s arrival – thanks to you and your model, mainly. Our Jaegers are no use if the city’s been destroyed by the time they are deployed. This ? This doesn’t fit any of our predictions, this completely blindsided us. We’ve got a kaiju on the loose, and its behaviour is totally unpredictable. That’s a disaster. I can’t allow it.”

His eyes slide away from Hermann’s, and he pauses for a second, before resuming, something careful in his voice :

“Right now, I need a kaiju expert. I had hoped to get Mr Chau, but, well. We will have to do without him. I will try to contact one of Dr Geiszler’s former colleagues, but it may take a while. My superiors are not very keen on us hiring new people, especially research personnel.”

His tone is steady, and Hermann could applaud his ability to talk around the elephant in the room, the entire reason they’re searching for a biologist, the fact that the one they had chose to lose his life in a useless gamble. And for what ? For curiosity’s sake ? By spite ? How selfish would one have to be to throw one’s life away when there were people counting on you, the fate of an entire species depending on your work ? Or was the man so phenomenally stupid that he did not know how irreplaceable he was ?

(“Is it impossible for you to be _quiet_ , Newton ? Some of us have _real_ work to do !” ”Oh yeah, because studying the kaiju’s biological weapons is _completely useless_ !” ”Oh, is that what you were doing ? Because all I hear is you exclaiming over what a _marvel_ the kaiju are and how _ingenious_ their physiology is ! Are you sure you don’t want an acid sac of your own ?” “Yeah, so I can _spit it in your face_ !”)

“In the meantime, I still need someone studying this kaiju’s new behaviour and determining its possible location and goals. I know that this is not part of your attributions, Doctor Gottlieb, but I would appreciate it if you could undertake this.”

Hermann blinks : “But, I am not qualified…”

The Marshall utters a short, mirthless laugh : “Neither are any of us, Doctor Gottlieb. But you do have a solid scientific background, have worked alongside Doctor Geiszler for years, and as such you are the best placed here to understand his notes. And you are one of the more brilliant minds of this generation. If someone can do this, it’s you.”

Hermann tries not to feel flattered. Pentecost is sincere, that much is clear, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t also trying to use Hermann’s pride to make him better disposed towards this task. The man wouldn’t have achieved what he has without being well-versed in the art of manipulation. He asks, as stiffly as he can : “I suppose I would have to put my other projects on hold for this ?”

“Yes”, answers the Marshall, unfazed by the accusation in Hermann’s voice. “Your model already allows us to pinpoint the timing of opening, location and width of the Breach with sufficient accuracy. It is precise enough for us to be ready for the next event and to implement Operation Pitfall. Right now, locating Otachi and stopping whatever it is trying to do is the biggest priority.”

Hermann nods, and begins to stand up. But Pentecost stops him with a light touch and, gently, adds : ”I want to thank you, Doctor Gottlieb. These are trying times, and I am asking much of you, without giving you any time to recover. It is necessary, I hope you understand. But if it comes to be… too much, I’d like you to tell me. Or someone else if that would be more comfortable for you. Just… some burdens are easier to bear with others.”

“Thank you, sir”, Hermann replies awkwardly, before hurrying out of the room.

 

The thing is, the entire Shatterdome is convinced Hermann is mourning Newton Geiszler’s death. They are wrong. Hermann is not grieving, he is _angry_. Hermann is normally not one to disrespect the dead, but Newton has always managed to annoy him into impropriety, and now is no different ; he wants to resurrect the man simply to be able to yell at him to his heart’s content. The list of his grievances is so extensive that Hermann feels his voice would run out before he finished enumerating them all. He is angry at Newton for having to witness his body limp and convulsing under that damn machine of his, for seeing his lax and white face, eyes unfocused, in most of his nightmares since then ; for leaving a recording blaming Hermann for his own stupidity ; for proving Hermann right when he said countless times that _Newton, your recklessness will get you killed one day_ ; for abandoning the PPCD, _the human race_ , when his expertise could make the difference between victory and extinction ; for risking his life in such a thoughtless way, like his death wouldn’t matter, like Ms Mori wouldn’t wander around silently, looking lost, like Mr Choi wouldn’t be unusually subdued for days ; for making Hermann unable to set foot in his own laboratory, now too unnaturally silent without Newton’s irritating music and grating voice ; for entering Hermann’s thoughts far too often ; for becoming such an integral part of Hermann’s routine that his absence drives little prickles of unease under Hermann’s skin throughout the day ; for having stood with Hermann for nine years in the rapidly dwindling K-Science department, facing together disdainful pilots with more brawn than brain, budget cuts and rampaging kaiju, so that his death cuts like a personal betrayal.

He doesn’t voice any of this. The anger stays a constant simmer under his skin, occasionally sending a lick of heat along his spine when something reminds him of the biologist (irritatingly frequently). Hermann bears it, and thinks of it as a testament to Newton’s insufferable personality that he manages to infuriate him even post-mortem.

Once, on the phone with Vanessa a mere day after Newton’s death, he slips up and calls his fellow scientist a “sorry excuse for a man”. Vanessa stays silent for a moment, obviously taken aback by Hermann’s vehemence. She is familiar with Hermann and Newton’s adversarial relationship, has been often enough the unlucky recipient of Hermann’s rants after one of their rows, but she hesitatingly points out that she has never heard Hermann talk about him with such vitriol before. Hermann awkwardly tries to explain the anger that Newton’s stupid, pointless stunt evokes in him, tells her in fumbled sentences about the man’s ridiculousness, about how such an incredibly dumb move _wasn’t even out of character for him_ , how he should have predicted it, really, because Newton had that childish, idiotic tendency of interpreting every interdiction as a challenge.

Finally, she asks him, softly : “Are you angry at him for dying, or at you for not stopping him ?”

He hangs up. In their next conversation, they don’t speak of Newton.

 

Newton’s notes are as rambling and brilliant as the man himself, and yet incredibly more unbearable. Something about hearing the biologist’s shrill voice coming out of a tiny piece of metal is even more disturbing than seeing his still body being lowered onto the ground. Hermann manages to endure it for three days before concluding that nothing Newton ever described about kaiju is consistent with Otachi’s strange behaviour, and that there is nothing to be gained here. He thinks about going to Pentecost with that result and washing his hands of this mess. Instead, he takes his portable whiteboard, goes to the mess and thinks about statistics and probabilities. The next morning, he knocks on the Marshall’s door.

Pentecost gestures him in and immediately asks : “Did you find something ?”

“Not exactly”, answers Hermann.

The Marshall frowns : “What do you mean ?”

“Otachi’s behaviour can in no way be related to any of the previous kaiju’s actions. In fact, it cannot even be linked to its own behaviour before the fight with Gypsy Danger. I believe there is no way to predict its future moves based on what we currently know about kaiju.”

The Marshall sighs : “Very well. Then you may return to your studies.” He makes a vaguely irritated gesture of dismissal in Hermann’s direction and goes back to the stack of paperwork in front of him. 

Hermann stands straighter : “I wasn’t finished, sir.”

“Continue, then”, says Pentecost shortly, obviously annoyed but always polite.

“If the beast is impossible to track in the water, then our only chance of localising it is if it makes land. However, with its size and the actual omnipresence of media and numerous communication means, if it had left the sea anywhere, it would have been spotted and the information would have come back to us. Which points to it staying in the oceanic depths.”

The Marshall begins to speak, but Hermann beats him to it : “Except if he made land in Antarctica. It’s the only landmass where human occupation is scarce enough that it might stay under the radar. I am not saying that it is there, but merely that it is the only place where we have a chance of finding it.”

Pentecost nods briskly, his eyes sharpening and the corners of his mouth lifting in a slight smile : “Good enough for me. Good job, Doctor Gottlieb. A team will be leaving for Antarctica tomorrow at dawn.”

 

The next day, Hermann finds himself in a plane headed for Antarctica.

“Right now, you are our kaiju expert, qualified or not. I want you there to direct the search and to consult with the scientists on McMurdo Station”, had been the Marshall’s reasoning.

Sometimes Hermann really questions his life choices, when those result in him going in the frozen end of the world to voluntarily put himself in the possible vicinity of a kaiju. Especially one whose teeth now feature heavily in his nightmares. But someone has to do it, and some small, long suppressed part of him is thrilled by being needed this way, being, for once, the man in the thick of the action and not just observing it from afar. It helps that he should be relatively safe, since Otachi is obviously steering clear of all human settlements. Unfortunately, they won’t have the reassurance of a Jaeger with them ; those won’t be moved at least until they obtain Otachi’s exact location, it’s too important that they’re ready to be deployed when the triple event occurs and Operation Pitfall is implemented.

Antarctica isn’t that bad. The cold is awful, of course, and especially trying for his bad leg, but at least that was expected and Hermann prepared for it. The view from the plane’s window is stunning, endless smooth white expanses and jagged white and black mountains, only marred by the frankly hideous installations of McMurdo Station. The base’s interior is actually quite comfortably and tastefully furnished, and the people are very friendly, obviously delighted to see new faces.

After a rapid lunch, he finds himself in a meeting with the station’s biologists, to discuss the best way to organize the search. They seem more excited than afraid by the prospect of a kaiju in their corner of the world, and Hermann has to wonder if maybe the reckless enthusiasm that so exasperated him in Newton is a trait characteristic of the discipline. Or, more probably, this threat that they have only witnessed on a screen, in cities half a world away, doesn’t seem completely real to them. As soon as the meeting begins, Hermann is subjected to a barrage of questions about the kaiju’s internal temperature, digestive system and metabolism. He answers laboriously, relying on Newton’s notes and his own memory – unexpectedly, Newton’s obnoxious habit of narrating his thoughts out loud has enabled him to unconsciously retain a few pieces of knowledge that are coming in handy right now. The biologists then turn to squabbling among themselves about the amount of time the kaiju could spend in the sea and on land, the amount of food it would need to eat and whether it might prefer a diet of whales or seals. Hermann tries not to feel useless and sips his steaming coffee slowly as the others determine the places where it is most likely to be found.

Unfortunately, the end result doesn’t narrow the search much. Hermann also has a talk with Colonel Harrisson, the officer in charge of the scouting team, and they agree that flying over the coast in a few of the McMurdo planes is out of the question. While it would make the search much easier, the engine’s noise would alert Otachi to their presence, and the kaiju might flee or attack the planes. Instead, the soldiers will patrol using the station’s electric snowmobiles, nearly silent and painted white as camouflage. It’s the safest way, but it will take time. Time that they may not have. The triple event might arrive any day now, and they really have to know if Otachi is truly in Antarctica or still in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, to ascertain whether it could intervene during Operation Pitfall. Lives depend on it. The war may even depend on it : if kaiju start to come in three (and probably soon four, and five), in one or two attacks there won’t be enough Jaeger left to stop them. (There’ll be the Wall, but Hermann doesn’t have much faith in that.)

He spends the day thinking about it, but no easy solutions present themselves. Until dinnertime, in the mess, when he’s eating some surprisingly good lasagna and ignoring two idiots on a neighbouring table argue over Otachi’s exact height, of all things. As if half a meter matters when the answer is _tall enough to crush buildings_. And then Hermann stops eating, because. Otachi really is incredibly big. And very heavy. Heavy enough, probably, that its steps would make the ground shake slightly. Which could be recorded by nearby seismographs.

He rushes though the rest of his meal and immediately goes to Colonel Harrisson to share his idea. The man’s stern face, originally set in subtle annoyance at being disturbed during dinner, lights up, and Hermann feels a rush of pride at the sight. This is why he loves his job, as demanding and stressful as it is : the elation of finding a solution to a critical problem, the incomparable sensation of being the saviour of the hour. He likes to think that he is as essential to Earth’s survival as the Jaeger pilots, in his own way, even if his victories are a little less spectacular.

(Newton, who never felt the same admiration tinged with envy for the pilots as Hermann, flat out believed that they, K-Science, were the true key players of this war. “It’s easy to feel important when you command two thousand pounds of man-shaped metal”, he’d ranted one day, after an encounter with a particularly moody Chuck Hansen. “But where would they be without us, huh ? Who programmed their shiny Jaegers and the Drift interface ? Who tells them when and where to go, where to hit the kaiju, and what to expect from them ? They’d be nothing without us, man.”

As critical as the biologist had been of Hermann’s entire personality and life choices (a very mutual sentiment), he’d also always been quick to defend his work to others and to celebrate his accomplishments. He can very easily imagine Newton’s childish joy in Colonel Harrisson’s place : the short scientist would have literally been bouncing on his seat, exclaiming : “That’s _brilliant_ ! Oh, I wish I’d thought of it, I’m so jealous you don’t even know !”. As taxing as he found Newton’s exuberant behaviour, he can’t deny he misses his enthusiasm. A little. Sometimes.)

Colonel Harrisson, while not as demonstrative as Newton would have been, does compliment Hermann on his ingenuity and immediately abandons his meal to requisition the base’s every portable seismograph. They spend the evening with the geologists, determining where to place the machines. They decide to head out in the morning in teams of two, a scientist and a soldier, to set up and calibrate the devices.

 

Hermann wakes up at dawn (in a manner of speaking, since McMurdo station is currently under almost constant daylight), and is ready at seven o’clock sharp. He is paired with the Colonel, who is just as punctual, and they are the first team to take one of the white snowmobiles out. They exit the hangar to the breathtaking spectacle of the McMurdo ice sheet sparkling under the sun, the front skis of their vehicle leaving a clear trail in the untouched snow. 

Their destination is at roughly six hours of the base. After nine o’clock, the wind begins to rise, picking up in intensity until its howling is all they can hear and the landscape before them is obscured by a light fog of windswept snow particles. They stop once to eat, sheltered behind a small black cliff, and soon after arrive at their destination, a small expanse of ice tucked between two rocky hills, not far from the coast. The seismograph is set up in only a few minutes, but the calibration takes longer than expected, the settings fluctuating irritatingly every time Hermann thinks he has finished. Suddenly, a hand grips his shoulder. Hermann raises his head, his sharp comment dying on his lips when he catches sight of the Colonel’s tense expression. Harrisson is looking at something on Hermann’s left, and when he turns, there it is, more than a hundred meters away but huge and black even in the distance.

It is swimming toward the coast, in long smooth strides devoid of urgency. Under the haze of fear and awe, Hermann thinks distantly that it doesn’t seem to have noticed them. Otachi climbs on the shore with an effortless movement, and stays still for an instant, its massive silhouette in stark contrast against the pale blue sky, water glistening on its dark scales. It then shakes itself dry, a long movement originating from its head and spreading all the way to the tip of its tail, and the sight is at the same time impressive and comical. Still feeling that strange disconnect with reality, Hermann tells himself that he should probably flee, but he doesn’t. It isn’t even fear that robs him of the capacity to move, but more that it doesn’t feel real, him standing there and the kaiju stretching lazily on the ice, unaware of his scrutiny. Abruptly, Hermann realizes that he has never properly watched a kaiju. He has seen them, on TV and, on one memorable occasion, with his own eyes from very close, but each time he was more focused on the consequences than the beast itself, was only seeing the damage and countless deaths rather than the elegant line of its spine studded with electric blue pinpricks of light, or the smooth outline of its powerful muscles. Kaiju were like tornadoes to him, an unstoppable, fearsome force of destruction, more akin to a natural disaster than an animal. He never understood Newton when the biologist raved about the creatures’ beauty, and even scorned him for it, because what kind of person finds a tornado _beautiful_ ? But now, seeing the beast at rest, detached from its context of carnage, he understands.

A shove suddenly jolts him out of his fascinated state, and he notices Colonel Harrisson frantically motioning for him to retreat. He complies, slowly moving backwards with his eyes still fixed on Otachi. It is leisurely coming closer, heading for the hills on the men’s left. Suddenly, it stills, and its head whips in Hermann and Harrisson’s direction.

Hermann stops walking, and this time it is fear that roots him in place. He is caught in its gaze, and suddenly it’s Hong Kong all over again, that horrible feeling of being _prey_ , knowing that in a few strides the monster could be on him and open its mouth and…

Otachi looks away. Slowly – deliberately ? –, it turns its head to lick at a blue gash on its shoulder, as if signalling its disinterest. Hermann takes a shaky breath and runs, runs faster than he ever has in his life toward the snowmobile. Colonel Harrisson is just behind him, and they rush into the vehicle, seating themselves haphazardly before hurtling off at full throttle. They don’t stop until they’re back in McMurdo Station, safe behind the hangar’s closing doors.

 

Hermann has now survived _two_ encounters with a kaiju. Once thanks to Gypsy Danger’s perfect timing, and the other… because the kaiju had already eaten ? Because they didn’t look tasty enough ? By divine intervention ?

He holds back the need to laugh hysterically as a young man offers him a cup of coffee. His hands are shaking. Their trip back took six hours, and his hands are _still shaking_. Harrisson – should he call him Peter, now that they’ve almost died together ? – is seated at his right, not looking very steady either. But at least the Colonel – Peter feels too strange, near-death experience or not – did manage to get it together long enough to phone the Marshall and report the encounter, within hearing distance of a group of slack-jawed scientists. The news spread in the station like wildfire, and here they are now, in the mess, treated like heroes, and for what ? Being inexplicably spared by a kaiju ?

In truth, the kind attentions they’re being shown only manage to remind Hermann that he might not have been there right now to enjoy them, were it not for Otachi’s nonsensical behaviour. Trying not to display his discomfort, he finishes his coffee hurriedly, and excuses himself from the table as soon as he can. He intends to go to his quarters, but changes his mind on the way and finds himself in the lab where the seismographs are being monitored. Four scientists are already there, huddled around the computers and talking quietly. Hermann comes closer and asks : “Do we know where it is now ?”.

“It didn’t stay long near point 7 after you left, but it reappeared at point 4 roughly two hours later”, answers one of them nervously. “It’s located close to a large seal community, so the kaiju was probably hunting. It didn’t linger there either, and we haven’t picked up its trace on any of the seismographs after that. It doesn’t make any sense, but we’re thinking seeing you may have pushed it into hiding.”

“Nothing makes much sense with this one”, says Hermann wearily. “But it did appear to avoid human presence, so your hypothesis isn’t that unlikely. It’s probably gone back into the ocean. And we’re back on square one.”

“Well, if it ever comes back here, we’ll be able to detect it and warn you right away, Doctor Gottlieb”, says a young woman, looking awestruck.

“Thank you, that will probably help”, replies Hermann, out of politeness more than any real conviction. He feels exhausted, abruptly, but unwilling to leave in case they detect Otachi’s presence again. It’s not like the kaiju could come to McMurdo Station without being noticed immediately, but Hermann doesn’t like not knowing where it is. He stays until his eyes begins closing on their own, and comes back the following morning as soon as he wakes up, but there is no new sign of Otachi in the entire day.

 

The Marshall phones in the evening to call the search team back to the Shatterdome. They fly back the next morning. Hermann spends the flight looking at the sea by the plane window, imagining large black shapes under the waves, remembering Otachi’s fluid form as it swam unhurriedly in the freezing Antarctic Ocean. He is in a strange dreamy state when they land, and at first doesn’t notice the young soldier running towards them.

“Sir, Doctor Gottlieb”, huffs the newcomer. “You’re expected right away at the Shatterdome.” He pauses a moment to catch his breath, and continues : “Operation Pitfall… It’s begun.”


	3. Dominance and Submission

Newt stares at the snowmobile disappearing in the distance, resisting the urge to run after it. That… that was Hermann, wasn’t it ? Newt’s eyesight has been vastly improved by his, uh, body change, and even with some three hundred feet between them, the wind, the snow and these awful white parkas they were wearing, he is absolutely sure that one of the two men he just saw was Hermann. Hermann, in a snowmobile, in _Antarctica_. Newt, in a kaiju’s body, just met Hermann in Antarctica. What is his life, seriously ?

It isn’t that funny, really. Newt could have lived without seeing his long-time colleague paralyzed with fear at the sight of him. _Twice_. Being a kaiju is nice and all, fast and strong and with incredibly sharp senses, swims like a dream, and, eh, he can fly !, but it’s really put a damper on his social life. Which was really never that developed to begin with, but, still. The thing is, Newt’s been a little starved for company lately, and, for a few seconds, he’d been so ridiculously _happy_ to see a familiar face, would have been overjoyed to hear even Hermann’s acerbic comments and general disapproval of his person. But then Hermann’s face had drained of color, and Newt had remembered _oh right, man-eating monster body, I probably should stop scaring him before he has a heart attack_. So he’d turned away to lick one of his wounds (the sea water makes them itch like crazy), and when he’d risked a cautious glance in Hermann’s direction, him and the other man were running away at a frankly impressive speed given the mathematician’s limp. Newt wanted nothing more than to go after them, but he refrained from it, aware that it wouldn’t really give the right impression.

In fact, he should probably be running in the opposite direction. Because there’s only one reason for Hermann to be in Antarctica right now. PPDC personnel don’t take vacations in the middle of saving the world, and Newt happens to know Hermann’s top ten dream destinations (what ? they do talk civilly sometimes) and Antarctica isn’t one of them. No, Hermann’s here for _him_. Or, more exactly, for the bloodthirsty kaiju who attacked Hong Kong a few days ago. And he’s probably not planning to throw him a tea party. So, it’s time to blow this joint – Antarctica was getting a little chilly anyway. Except there’s not many kaiju-friendly places left he could go to, so back to the ocean it is. It’s fortunate that the kaiju are such incredible beings, completely amphibious, as much at ease in the water as on land, and capable of withstanding strong pressure for a great length of time. Hell, Newt could probably spend the rest of his life in the deepest of the Pacific’s pits if he so chooses, and he’s _not thinking about it_ , not thinking about spending the rest of his life hiding from everyone with only fish and plankton for company, he’s got this far he can’t break down now.

 

So he leaves. After a last halt on the Antarctic coast to hunt (another thing he misses : cooked meals), he goes to the Indian Ocean, because it may be better to get away from the Pacific and he wants to stay somewhere warm. He swims past beautiful coral reefs, but as much as he’d like to stop and bask in the colorful marine life, he has to stay away from the shallow water to avoid being spotted. He stops off the coast of Sumatra, deep enough that light from the surface barely reaches him, the only illumination provided by the tiny blue lights on his body, and rests his large body on the rocky seabed. And as he’d done once when he was fleeing from Hong Kong, still reeling from the shock of having a body again and being overcome by the Precursors’ conscience and _slaughtering dozens of people_ , he takes a deep breath and begins :

_I’m thankful for still being alive._

_I’m thankful for being able to see and hear and touch and smell and taste._

_I’m thankful for being able to move and swim and fly._

_I’m thankful for still being me._

_I’m thankful for being warm._

_I’m thankful that Hermann’s healthy and well._

_I’m thankful that I got to see a real living coelacanth today._

After that, he feels calmer and very tired. He curls up on himself, using his tail as a pillow, and sleeps.

 

He’s only just woken up when the Breach opens. This time, he feels it happening. In a matter of seconds, a trickle becomes a river becomes a _flood_ of thoughts, his-but-not-his, and he fights not to be overwhelmed but can a limb choose not to heed the nervous system’s signals ? What even is this identity that he is trying so hard to retain ? He doesn’t know, it doesn’t know, but still clings to it, repeating _I am Newton Geiszler, I was a human, I don’t want to invade_ –

– invade this world, harvest its resources, but first it has to clean it of the creatures that get in its way. Today is a turning point, the beginning of the final phase, and it’s crucial that it goes right. The portal is expanding, opening longer each time, and today one of the next-generation models should be able to cross. It will be very close, though, and it doesn’t want to take any risk at this juncture in time. It is worried about the humans’ plan he has seen in Newton Geiszler’s head. It shouldn’t work, but there is a five percent chance that it would temporarily destabilize the portal, causing the loss of one of its best units.

It has sent two bodies ahead to defend the portal, a scout and a defensive unit. The defensive unit is stationed near it, while the scout patrols the area. Through the scout’s eyes, it sees two Protectors, lumbering towards the Breach. It is almost too easy, it thinks. The metal creatures are moving noisily and clumsily, hindered by the water around them, and seem to rely on a frontal light that barely penetrates the deep water in front of them. The units are ready, but they hold back, waiting. On the other side, the new weapon, a body of 6 750 tons with great intelligence, resilience and offensive power meant for the total annihilation of enemy forces, is expected to cross in a matter of minutes. The Protectors  
arrive in sight of the portal, and the units tense, poised to attack.

In the next instant : the portal reaches the desired width ; the extermination unit propels itself forward and lands running on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, using its momentum to send the nearest Protector, the sleek one, flying ; and the defensive unit dashes towards the older Protector, taking advantage of the element of surprise to land a powerful punch. Only a few seconds into the fight, and the units can already taste victory. The sleek Protector is on the ground, stunned and badly damaged. The other one has rolled with the blow with remarkable nimbleness and is preparing to retaliate, but it is outnumbered and slowed by the underwater pressure.

But despite all odds, the fight drags on. The units are supposed to be in perfect condition, but they seem to suffer from a strange malfunction : each time the enemy falters, leaves an opening in its guard, they fail to deliver the killing blow, aiming just a little too wide, just a little too weak. Confidence turns to frustration. The extermination unit lashes out with its tails and destabilizes its opponent, but when it comes closer to press its advantage, nausea fills it, making it waver and enabling its adversary to grab it and tear into it with sharp blades. The defensive unit makes mistakes and struggles to hold its own against the older Protector, whose skill and ruthlessness aren’t held back by some strange compunction. It immobilizes the unit and is about to kill it when the scout launches itself from the shadow, taking the robot’s arm in a surprise attack and saving the defensive unit. The defensive unit uses the opening to tear at its adversary’s leg, but is dazed by a shot to its head and once again overpowered. The scout intervenes a second time, but its assault is met with a steel blade shooting from the enemy’s left forearm. The weapon bisects the scout cleanly from head to tail, using its speed against it. The pain is intense and distracting, and the Precursor’s hivemind _doesn’t understand what is happening_. It should be winning, but it isn’t, and somehow it is its own fault. It doesn’t understand.

It tries to quell its rising panic. It doesn’t matter. Even if this battle is a loss, even if it loses three valuable bodies, it can still make others. It is safe behind the portal, which is hermetically sealed from the humans’ end without the right genecode. It will breed out the flaw from itself and come back stronger. It is alright, it doesn’t have to win, just concentrate on making as much damage as possible.

The defensive unit falls back and teams up with the extermination unit against the sleek Protector. With its two bodies working together, it takes control of the fight and manages to severely impair the robot, but it derives no satisfaction from it. No, instead each successful blow leaves it feeling sick and guilty. But it doesn’t relent. It knows that taking over this world is its best option, the scenario that will enables it to sustain its growing self in the future with minimal risks, knows that eliminating the competition is the only logical, sane course of action. Contemplating otherwise is unthinkable, has to be a defect.

It does nothing to quell the wretched feeling it is experiencing. It isn’t even really about the two lives inside the metal shell it is mercilessly crushing, although for some reason the prospect of their death does pain him. It is about the future that awaits this world if it prevails, the prospect of an Earth without humans living on it, millennia of civilization brought to an abrupt end and their remains left behind to be forgotten. Somehow, that future seems unacceptable. As unacceptable as giving up on this resource-filled world for no good reason. It is maddening, this duality inside itself. It may be composed of multiple beings, but those have always worked in harmony, so intimately intertwined that it is impossible to tell where one ends and the others begins. It has never known such discord.

(Yes, he has, once. He remembers it distantly, an eternity filled with nothing but pain and disjointed thoughts and the struggle for existence. He came out on top, in the end.)

Sometimes during the fight, the defensive unit dies at the sleek Protector’s hand, a sharp blade severing its spinal column followed by a shot to the head. It barely feels it over its inner turmoil. They are grappling now, the sleek Protector and the remaining unit. The enemy is hurt and slow but strong, and the unit is distracted and tired. It hardly cares anymore about the outcome, just wants it to end, once and for all. The emotion is familiar, and it takes a moment to remember why. It is the same thing he felt after each kaiju attack, the same thing that he could see echoed in the weary eyes of the people around him. He remembers the urgency, the knowledge that this war couldn’t be allowed to last because they couldn’t take much more. The powerlessness that led them to pour all their energies into last ditch efforts, attempts to Drift with a kaiju without knowing the consequences or to close the Breach with a thermonuclear bomb even if it has been able to withstand anything thrown its way so far. Desperate plans, with almost no hope of succeeding, but that have the tiniest chance of putting an end to this nightmare.

No more killing. No more having to choose between the well-being of two species he cannot help but feel bound to.

The Breach is very close. It would take only a few steps to reach it. Open it thanks to the combination of silicon nucleotides inserted in his DNA. And fall.

He grasps onto Stricker Eureka tighly as they leave this world behind. When the other side comes into view, the Jaeger lifts a hand and puts it on the bomb strapped on his side.

He should tear that hand away. This is mad. Unthinkable. This is suicide, this is betrayal. And yet. One way or another, it has to _end._

The bomb explodes. A rush of incredible pain, terror, and disbelief. Striker Eureka dies. Countless bodies die. The Breach shudders and collapses on itself.

Somewhere near the Sumatran coast, Newt, shaking, curls up on himself with the only body he has left.

 

The ocean floor is pitch black and silent. For once, Newt welcomes the darkness. Here, so far from the Pacific Ocean, he can pretend for a few more minutes that nothing happened. That he just woke up from a nightmare. He aches all over, even though this body hasn’t even taken part in the fight. He’s hungry, too. His last meal was the seal before leaving Antarctica.

He could just… stand up, catch a fish or two, eat, sleep, go on living without thinking about it. Or he could pretend the only things he is feeling are relief that the rift is finally closed, and grief that Herc and Chuck Hansen died to close it. He could pretend that he doesn’t care about the Precursors, that he doesn’t feel incomplete, unbalanced, that he didn’t leave a part of himself behind the Breach. He could pretend that the idea of the rift never opening again in his lifetime doesn’t hurt him as much as it gladdens him.

And it won’t, Newt is certain of it. His Drift-acquired technical knowledge tells him the Precursors could probably create another portal without too much difficulty, but they aren’t likely to target Earth again anytime soon. Not because of the bomb and the casualties it caused. The Precursors’ hivemind treats his bodies much more cavalierly than humans, having more to spare. The loss of so many would have rendered him more cautious but wouldn’t have deterred it entirely. No, the reason the Precursors will avoid Earth for a long time… is him.

Newt can remember, can still _feel_ the terror and incomprehension of having part of itself turn against it. Like… cancer. Or your own arm strangling you in your sleep. Can imagine how much it would unnerve the Precursors, not being able to trust itself anymore, looking at each body composing it and seeing potential enemies. For many years to come, Newt will probably linger in the Precursors’ memory as a mysterious and dreaded disease. He doesn’t regret doing what he has, but… here, at the bottom of the Indian Ocean, in the dark, hiding from humans and with the Precursors hiding from him, he feels very alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a really short chapter, and not once I'm very proud of. But well, it had to be done. I hope you aren't too disappointed, and that, once again, the hivemind/Newt POV isn't too confusing. I'm really glad to be done with it.


	4. Wings Wetted Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, my thesis's been crazy. That way this chapter can be a slightly early Christmas present ! I'm on vacation now, so next chapter should take less time to write, but I make no promises.

On the screen appears a red and blue world, full of vaguely humanoid creatures gathered around giant predators in construction, looking as one towards the two shapes falling from the sky. Pentecost’s voice crackles from the speakers, cool and collected even now : “Activating the package.”

An almost imperceptible pause, then : “A pleasure to have known you all”, at the same time as a barely shaky “Goodbye Dad” from Chuck Hansen.

A flash of light and sound, and Stricker Eureka’s feedback cuts off.

Herc Hansen lets out a ragged exhale.

The room is silent and solemn, heads bowed in deference to the two men who sacrificed their life to save them all.

Except for Tendoi Choi, whose eyes are trained on the monitor before him. He says : “The Breach is closing. They did it.”

At first, nobody moves. Then Lucille Mercier, a slight brunette from the J-Tech department, pumps her fist in the air and whoops : “We did it !”, before jumping in the arms of a fellow engineer. Then the stillness breaks, and everyone is embracing and yelling and crying.

Hermann lets himself be hugged and congratulated, drunk on sheer relief. He only just realizes how little he’d believed in this plan, how much he’d expected something to go wrong. The rift could have been too narrow, the bomb could have deflected off its surface, or the charge could have been too weak, and the war would have been lost by Hermann’s fault. But it didn’t happen. It didn’t happen, and they’ve won. The Breach is closed. They’re safe.

Herc Hansen is standing near the door, accepting handshakes, more subdued congratulations and condolences. A slight smile on his face but eyes clouded, he is the living remainder that victory comes with a cost.

(Newton’s face, a sharp spike of anger : if he’d waited _just a few more days_ , he would have been here now, rejoicing with everyone. But Hermann refuses to let Newton’s idiocy ruins this moment for him.)

A sudden burst of static, and Raleigh Beckett’s tense voice cuts through the celebrations : “Sir, there was a quake and Gypsy’s damaged. We’re losing oxygen. We’re ejecting now.”

“Copy that”, answers Hansen briskly. “Sit tight, we’re coming to get you.” Then, turning towards the rest of the room : “Well, what are you waiting for ? We’ve still got a job to do.”

 

There’s a party, of course. But before that, there’s the retrieval of Ms Mori and Mr Beckett, and the towing back of Gipsy Danger, and the arrival of a dozen television crews here to share their victory with the world. They first show the footage from the battle taken from Stricker Eureka’s camera, then ask for an live interview with a few select people. Ms Mori and Mr Beckett are chosen, of course, and Herc Hansen as the new Marshall, but Hermann is shocked to hear they desire his presence as well. The interview is conducted in one of the Shatterdome’s conference room, a large airy space that has been under lock for as long as Hermann’s worked here (in the last years, there have never been enough employees in the different departments to justify formal reunions, and anyway Pentecost preferred to keep informed by dropping in regularly in their workspace). They are sitting on one end of the large table, a smiling presenter to their right and an army of cameras in front of them. It is a somewhat intimidating set-up, but nothing like standing alone on a stage giving a conference to a full amphitheatre, as Hermann has done many times before (at least if he doesn’t let himself think that behind those cameras, six billion people are watching them).

The presenter begins by introducing them, and Hermann has to restrain himself not to snort when he is presented as “head of the Kaiju-Science Department”, neatly sidestepping the fact that he is the only one left in it. They open with a rapid presentation of the PPDC by Herc Hansen, before seguing into Operation Pitfall itself. Hermann is asked a few questions about the science behind the operation, and manages to give sufficiently dumbed-down answers. Then Ms Mori and Mr Beckett recount the battle from their point of view, managing to sound engaging and moving and glossing over a lot of details. When they arrive to the moment of Stricker Eureka’s self-destruction, Herc Hansen takes over to deliver a passionate speech about honouring the heroes of this war and being worthy of their sacrifice. He stands tall and proud, eyes clear but something brittle in his expression, the very picture of dignity in loss. When he finishes, there is a short, respectful silence before the presenter asks, visibly trying to steer the interview back to a more cheerful topic : “So, now that the Kaiju threat has been definitely adverted, what are your plans for the future ?”

Hermann has spent all his life in search of knowledge. His equations are prayers for Truth, for the right to see the world with exactitude, to remove the webs of human perceptions and preconceptions and find the mathematical order underneath. So it’s instinct, he doesn’t even think before correcting : “It isn’t definitive. The Kaiju could probably open another Breach.”

His words are met with deafening silence. The presenter’s omnipresent smile has frozen on his lips, and every person in the room is looking at him with shock written on their face. Hermann tries not to imagine the same expression on thousands of people in front of their telly, the wry condescending smile of Lars saying : “For someone so intelligent, my son, you can be very stupid sometimes”. He knows what was expected of him tonight. Share the good news, show the people that the nightmare is past, that they were right to pour their money in this endeavour. Present this victory as decisive, absolute. But it isn’t, and Hermann always will choose Truth over people’s expectations. He squares his shoulders, and clarifies : “The Breach didn’t open by accident. In all likeliness, it was created and maintained by a machine, which was destroyed in the explosion. If they knew how to build one, the kaiju can build another. So the possibility of another attack in the future is very real. It would probably take them time to rebuild such technology, which I imagine must be very complex. But it can happen.”

Hermann falls silent. The presenter stammers something about this still being a momentous victory, and a man behind the sea of cameras holds up a piece of paper with WRAP IT UP hastily scribbled on it. The interview ends on the Marshall saying : “The difference is that now we won’t be caught unaware. Next time, if there is one, we'll be prepared.”

Hermann takes care to exit the room at his normal pace, back straight and head held high. Ms Mori and Mr Beckett wave at him as they leave, and Herc Hansen walks to his side and says : “That was brave of you, Doctor Gottlieb.”

Hermann shrugs stiffly : “I only said the truth, sir.”

“Not an easy truth to say,” counters Hansen with a wry smile.

Hermann shrugs again, uncertain what to answer. The Marshall falls into step behind him, and they walk side by side in silence for a few minutes.

Finally, Herc Hansen says : “We never discussed what’d happen when we’d have beaten back the Kaiju. When we’d have closed the Breach. We were so focused on Operation Pitfall, I never even thought it might not be over after that. I wonder if Pentecost did.”

“Lots of people didn’t,” offers Hermann.

“It’s different”, sighs the Marshall. “It’s my job now. Planning for these eventualities. I should have… Anyway, this change things. I have to convince the politicians to keep the PPDC program open, to build more Jaegers, make sure we’re prepared. Find out if another Operation Pitfall earlier in the game might be feasible. And all that when they’d much prefer to bury their heads in the sand and forget the Kaiju even exist. At least they can’t keep on building the Wall, since we don’t know where the Breach might open next.” He looks incredibly tired, and not for the first time, Hermann is glad not to be in charge.

“Well, if you ever need anything…”

“Thank you, Doctor Gottlieb. I’m glad I can count on you”, says Herc Hansen with a brief smile before walking away.

 

When they arrive in the main bay, few people are still sober. The Shatterdome’s employees have managed to gather an impressive amount of alcohol, given the trade restrictions, and there’re even a few bottles of champagne making their way through the crowd. As soon as his presence is noticed, Hermann falls victim to several enthusiastic hugs (and an awkward kiss, courtesy of a very disinhibited Tendo Choi) and a flute of champagne is put in his hand. As a general rule, parties aren’t much Hermann’s cup of tea. Large gatherings of people in a non-scientific context usually make him feel self-conscious and out of place, and his distaste of the loss of control brought by inebriation doesn’t allow him to drink to forget his awkwardness. But today is different. Today is people brought together by a shared joy, a shared achievement. People he has barely talked to come to congratulate him, and he laughs with them at a drunken Tendo’s attempt to “share the love” with a reluctant Marshall. He doesn’t refill his glass himself even once, but doesn’t refuse the alcohol thrown his way, and rapidly becomes pleasantly tipsy. He feels happy, and warm, and like he really belongs with all these ridiculous people dancing on tables and singing horrible renditions of songs he doesn’t know but can still tell are supposed to sound better than that. He thinks that he could even have laughed at Newton’s antics, tonight, and that stray thought brings his mood from merry to melancholic, but that’s alright. They don’t talk of the dead tonight, but they still are there in a million details : Herc Hansen drinking a lot more than is reasonable, Ms Mori and Mr Beckett clinging to each other like they could be forcibly separated at any time, and now Hermann gazing at nothing with a vaguely-fond, vaguely-sad look. The others celebrating with him don’t take umbrage at his inattentiveness ; they continue talking around him, bodies warm and solid and words a comforting background, until he feels like participating to the conversation again.

When finally Hermann goes from pleasantly drowsy to tired, he takes his leave and heads to his quarters, where he finds out that Vanessa has tried to call him. It’s a pleasant surprise : Hermann can’t imagine a better end to this day than a conversation with his wife, but he expected the telephone network would be too overloaded tonight to contact her.

He settles in his favourite armchair, one of the only luxuries in an otherwise austerely decorated room, and dials Vanessa’s number. When she answers, he hears voices in the background and fears he is disturbing her, remembering a little too late the eight hours difference between Hong Kong and Berlin. She laughs at him, mocking him gently : “Of course, I’m much too busy to talk to the man who saved the world from an alien invasion. Come back when you’ve solved world hunger.”

“I didn’t”, he stammers, thankful that she can’t see his face burning. He’s always found the way his cheeks turn a vivid shade of red while the rest of his skin keeps its usual pale colour most unattractive. “I mean, I did help, but… And anyway, if you’re at work…”

“Don’t worry, I’m on a break.” A little teasingly, she adds : “I won’t get fired for speaking with the hero of the day, you know. In fact, several co-workers have congratulated me today on my excellent taste in husbands.”

“Can we speak of something else ?” pleads Hermann, even redder.

She takes pity on him and redirects the conversation to her current photoshoot and the photographer’s weird demands. Hermann relaxes gradually. No longer distracted by embarrassment, he notices that Vanessa sounds slightly preoccupied, her trademark deadpan humour somewhat automatic, as if she’s got others things on her mind. He doesn’t say anything, waits until she’s finished talking to ask softly : “Did something else happen today ?”

She hesitates, answers “No” then, abruptly : “I saw your interview this morning”. Nonplussed and feeling his cheeks heat again, Hermann says : “Oh, that, that was awful, you shouldn’t have watched it”. She laughs, but there’s still something distant in her voice, something sad : “No, it wasn’t. You were brilliant, Hermann, very confident and competent, the world’s foremost expert in extra-terrestrial threats.” She pauses, and Hermann thinks of saying something but chooses to wait. “You intend to stay, don’t you”, she finally whispers. “They’re still counting on you, and you want to stay and help them”.

Hermann is opening his mouth to say that of course he does, when it hits him. If he stays, that means he doesn’t come back to Berlin. To Vanessa. Suddenly, all alcohol-induced warmth and contentment leave him as if he’s been doused in cold water. He feels sick. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. The war that has separated him from his wife for nine long years has ended today, and not once has he even _thought_ of returning home. What kind of husband is he ?

“You’re blaming yourself”, observes Vanessa. That almost makes him smile ; she knows him so well. “Yes”, he recognizes. “I shouldn’t… I should want…” He can’t finish.  
“It doesn’t really matter, does it, what you should want”, she says a little meanly. “Only what you do.”

“I know”, he whispers, because the truth is, the idea of leaving the Shatterdome and its people feels too much like leaving home and the thought of returning to Berlin not enough like coming back to it. “I…”, he begins, then trails off, because what can he say ?

A weighted silence falls between them. After what seems an eternity, Vanessa says softly, as if talking to herself : “When I saw your eyes on that interview, when I understood – even after all this time apart, your face is an open book to me –, I wasn’t angry. I was sad, but I wasn’t angry.” She pauses, and Hermann can imagine her distractedly twirling a lock of her lustrous black hair between her long fingers. “A few years ago, I would have been. I would have fought for you.” She stops again, and this time Hermann knows it’s because the words are stuck in her throat. After a while, she continues, her voice shaking slightly : “You see ? It’s not all on you. We… We drifted apart.”

She sounds unbearably fragile, and for the first time in far too long the distance between them chafes ; he wants to shelter her in his arms and soothe her, but he can’t. The only thing he can offer her is words, and none come to mind that wouldn’t hurt her further. An “I love you” is on the tip of his tongue, and it still feels true, but how could he say it when he’s choosing his work over his wife ? So he says : “I don’t want to lose you”, and is thrown by the ardent plea in his voice. He can hear her bite back a sob, and she answers: “Me neither”. Next, he offers, a little helplessly : “You’re still the one who knows me best”, and she laughs a little. She sounds slightly less brittle when she tells him “Yes, I am”, and he can breathe again.

The next question is hard to utter, but he forces himself, because he won’t keep her chained to him when he doesn’t deserve her : “Do you want a divorce ?” “No !”, she immediately answers, and then, very low : “I can’t. Not now. But. Maybe later.” He nods, even though she cannot see him.

She says : “ You’ll still phone ?”, and it may have been intended as an joking order but it comes out as a question. “I’ll bore you to death with the exact account of my mathematician’s musings”, he promises. “And you’ll entertain me with your tales on the ridiculousness of the fashion world.” “Good”, she answers with heartfelt relief. Then she begins : “I…”, and he knows she is stumbling over the “I love you” they usually end their weekly conversations on. His lips stretch in a bitter smile when he says : “I know. Me too.”

 

The next day, the Shatterdome’s employees go back to work, sluggish and bleary–eyed. The celebrations lasted well into the night, and most people are functioning on a few hours of sleep, but they can’t afford to slack off : the war may be won, but there is still a kaiju on the loose. The J-team tackle the task of repairing Gypsy Danger, badly damaged in the earthquake that followed the Breach’s collapse. Meanwhile, the responsibility of searching for the elusive Otachi falls entirely to Hermann, because no one else has any idea of how to proceed. Not that Hermann does, either, but after Antarctica it seems everyone is convinced that he is an expert on the question. Thankfully, he stayed in contact with some of the McMurdo biologists, who are more than happy to provide unpractical solutions that Hermann keeps turning down.

So the search drags on, and Otachi stays invisible, lurking at the bottom of the ocean. Sometimes the threat feels unreal. With the Breach closed and everything else gone back to normal, that lone kaiju on Earth seems more like a myth than an animal of flesh and blood, and it’s harder to treat the issue with the urgency it warrants. But when Hermann wakes up at night from dreams of human-tall teeth and a luminescent blue tongue, he can’t stand the idea that it is still at large, wants it caught _yesterday_ , and often ends the night hunched over his whiteboard, listening for the umpteenth time to Newton’s research logs and scribbling ideas that he will all discard in the light of day.

And then it is sighted as it swims towards Hong Kong’s coastline. This time, as they haven’t had the first signs of the Breach opening to warn them, they have almost no hope of intercepting the kaiju before it reaches the city. They prepare frantically, managing to send Gypsy Danger out in record time, all the while waiting with baited breath for the beginning of Otachi’s attack. But it never comes. The kaiju doesn’t even approach the city. When the Jaeger is dropped off near its position, it flees, leaving behind him a patch of the shore marked by criss-crossed claw lines. Gypsy Danger gives chase, but it is much slower than the agile beast and loses ground quickly. Hermann, his eyes rived on the screen in the LOCCENT control room, is vibrating with tension. Finally, they know where it is, and it’s about to slip through their fingers again. He can’t bear to see it happen, and turns his head away, but when his gaze falls on the rest of the room, he remarks that a few people – mostly J-Science engineers – are watching with expectant looks instead of anxious ones. Their eyes are fixed on the same point on the screen, where Gypsy Danger’s arm is slowly lifting and pointing toward the fleeing kaiju. Suddenly, with a loud detonation, a small round object shots from the Jaeger’s palm at high speed towards Otachi, unfolding a few meters away from its target. When it makes contact with the kaiju, wrapping around its massive body, the monster wails and falls, its legs tangling further with the metal cords and keeping him immobilized, half immerged in the dark water. As they watch Gypsy Danger head toward the struggling beast, someone whispers : “A net ?”

“Produces a 2mA, 50000V electric discharge on impact, too,” answers smugly one of the engineers.

“That weapon wasn’t in the Jaeger’s original design,” observes Hermann sharply.

“Mako’s idea,” answers the engineer. “She thought dealing with a hiding kaiju might require different tactics than protecting cities from them.”

“Astute,” says Hermann, truthfully a little irked that he didn’t think of it himself.

Otachi has managed to turn around slightly and its head is angled uncomfortably to keep track of the Jaeger’s progression. Its attempts to get free become first more frantic and then progressively weaker as the machine comes closer. Its body is still wracked with tremors from the electric choc. Slowly, it curls back on itself, still keeping its eyes fixed on the approaching Jaeger. It doesn’t seem so tall, suddenly. Hermann knows it is of a height with Gypsy Danger, and would in fact dwarf it if it stood upright on its hind legs, but right now it looks small and frightened, a prey staring into the inscrutable eyes of the predator before it, desperate not to die but helpless to stop it from happening.

_Stop it_ , Hermann tells himself sharply. _You will_ not _empathise with the beast that tried to eat you_.

But it is now completely still, save for faint shivers along its legs, and Hermann recognizes that stillness, has _felt_ it, that acceptance that comes not from willingness but from the inescapable certainty of death, that almost dreamlike state that is the worst part of his nightmares because when he wakes he knows that he could have been eaten and he wouldn’t have done anything but wait until the beast’s stomach acids dissolved him into nothingness.

He is speaking before he can make the conscious decision not to do so : “Wait !”

Everyone in the room turns towards him. On the screen, Gypsy Danger stops moving, but resumes its approach after a brief hesitation. “We could take it alive.”

Marshal Hansen, eyes thunderous, barks : “Do you know how many people this monster killed ? This isn’t some pet you can rescue, Doctor Gottlieb ! It has to be dealt with !”

“But it may not be the last time we encounter them, and we still know almost nothing about them. If we once again have to defend Earth against them… It could be our only chance to study a living specimen.”

The Marshal stays silent for a long time. On the screen, Gypsy Danger has stopped a few meters from Otachi, still pointing its hand at it.

“As long as it’s alive, we can still kill it at any time, at the first sign of danger. But if it dies, that’s final.”

Finally, Herc Hansen lets out a long sigh and mutters : “I must be crazy”. To Ms Mori and Mr Beckett, he orders : “You have a second net in your other arm, correct ? Fire it if it so much as twitch.” Then, to the people gathered in the control room : “I want more of these nets and at least three helicopters to transport it. Clear the main bay and design a system to keep the kaiju restrained here. I don’t want it able to move even an inch.”


	5. Subhuman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING : This chapter contains potentially disturbing content. A main character is kept in appalling, inhuman and possibly humiliating conditions, and is the victim of very strong prejudice. Please heed these warnings before reading.

Hermann meant to go to the mess, he really did.

Since Newton’s death, he hasn’t been able to work for long in their lab. Thankfully, his discipline doesn’t require much in the way of materials, and he’s only had to go there a few times to run simulations on his unwieldy supercomputer. Mostly, he works in his quarters or in the mess, though he doesn’t feel completely at ease in either, his quarters too silent and the mess too crowded. 

But since Otachi’s capture, he’s found himself drawn to the small control room overlooking the main bay several times a day. There, he can see into the vast space where the kaiju is kept, in a thick full-body metal harness anchored to the ground and walls and ceiling at multiple points, with only just enough give for the beast to lie down. While the restraints are made from pure titanium, there is doubt that they alone (and the walls to which they’re attached) could withstand the full force of a kaiju, and so they are designed to give the prisoner electric chocks of increasing intensity the more strain is put on them. The first day, Otachi kept struggling, as if testing how far they were willing to go. After an attempt that stunned the beast for a full ten minutes and left it shaking uncontrollably for a good half hour after that, it stopped resisting physically and instead took to uttering long plaintive cries that resonated all throughout the Shatterdome and almost pushed the Marshall to order it killed after all. But one day it quieted, and since then it lies there silently, its only signs of life the slow expansion and compression of its breast.

Hermann dimly knows why he keeps coming back here. Some of it is his always renewed awe at the sheer size of the creature, the wonder that it even exists, let alone is here, just before him. A large part of it is fear. He has always feared the kaiju since that first attack on San Francisco, but since its two terrifying encounters with Otachi, it haunts his nightmares, appears in his thoughts larger than life (a feat in itself), and almost supernatural, a mythical shadow like the bogeyman he used to dread as a child. It helps to see it like this, a being of flesh and blood, chained, defeated. Responsibility plays also a part in his behavior. He was the one who argued for its capture instead of its death. It is because of him that the beast is now kept at the heart of the Shatterdome. If it ever managed to get free…

And so Hermann keeps checking, little trips three or four times a day. He’s always alone in the little control room. The first days, there were at all times at least three or four gawkers there, taking in the unique spectacle of a captive kaiju, watching it strain against its bonds and fearfully wondering whether they would hold. But the novelty wore off, Otachi didn’t escape, and the cameras spanning the room render useless the presence of an actual guard. Nowadays most Shatterdome employees seem content to ignore the beast. There is talk of hiring a team of biologists to study it, but between the fact that its capture is extremely classified (the rest of the world has been told that Gypsy Danger killed it) and the restructuration the PPDC is currently undergoing, the recruiting process is going at a snail’s pace.

A panel opens over the kaiju’s head, and Hermann checks his watch. Twelve o’clock, time for it to be fed. At first, the meat was brought in Otachi’s vicinity by Gypsy Danger, since it would be too dangerous for anything other than a Jaeger to approach the prisoner. But transporting the huge machine from the second hangar to the main bay for every meal rapidly proved inefficient, and nowadays the food is thrown from the Drivesuit Room, a small space situated on top of the main bay, where pilots used to suit up and from where they could access directly their Jaeger’s Conn-Pod.

Several enormous slabs of meat fall around Otachi, who immediately lowers its head and start tearing at the closest. It must be hungry, Hermann knows. He was the one who devised the kaiju’s diet according to Newton’s notes, and saw the Marshall wince at the expense it represented. He suspects some of his recommendations were revised downwards.

Otachi eats ravenously, not even leaving the bones behind. In the week it’s been here, Hermann has assisted to a few of its meals, but he still hasn’t gotten used to the sight. Stomach churning, he’s about to leave when a metallic sound catches his attention.

Otachi has finished the second-last piece of meat, and is trying to get to the last one, which has rolled just outside of its reach. It extends its head just a little further, and recoils, the spasm of all its muscles indicating that it’s just been chocked. It stays still for a time, breathing loudly, then lunges. Its teeth pass a few centimeters shy of their target, and its entire body seizes before he slumps back in its restraints, defeated form wracked with shivers.

It’d be foolish to feel pity, Hermann tells himself sternly. Did the kaiju feel pity when he was crushing people by dozens and burying them under destroyed buildings ? Did it feel pity when it was about to eat _him_ ? But it’s impossible not to, and with the pity comes guilt. After all, they are the one who put it in chains that electrocutes it at its every move, the ones that feed it so scarcely that it would risk injuring itself just to have a little more. Or, more precisely, he is responsible for it, as he is the one who argued for Otachi’s capture. It isn’t a very pleasant feeling, no matter what the creature on the other end of these chains is or what it did.

He considers leaving. Going back to the noisy, crowded mess, forgetting about the kaiju rotting away in the silent bay as the others seem to be doing. There, alone, it would suffer quietly, muscles aching, stomach empty, the leftover slab of meat taunting it, just out of reach. For how long ? God, nobody would come to remove it, would they ? The meat would start decaying, stink up the place, and nobody would care, or would even know. For that matter, how long ago was the bay cleaned ? The floor has to be absolutely filthy. And the beast itself ? It is difficult to say, with the dim lighting and the dark coloration of its scales, but didn’t they shine more brightly a few days ago ? Hermann steps closer to the glass and squints. Yes, that’s definitely a thin layer of filth obscuring the multiple luminescent spots on Otachi’s body. A darker line trails along the inside of one of its hind legs, and Hermann realise with horror that, incapable of moving, the kaiju wouldn’t have the choice to go relieve itself in a corner of the room, and has been stepping in its dejections all week long.

The unease turns to full-blown nausea. God, he’s been coming here every day, several times a day, and he’s never noticed. Never even _wondered_. He’s looked at the heavy chains and felt reassured, thought only of what they meant for his and other humans’ safety and never stopped to consider the creature trapped in them. It’s not that he’s wanted the kaiju to suffer, but he just hasn’t cared. In some ways, that makes Hermann feel a little better, but in others, it’s almost worse. Hermann has suffered enough in his life from casual, unthinking cruelty that he knows that it cuts as deeply as deliberate malevolence.

After one last look to the beast slumped in the centre of the bay, Hermann steels himself and leaves. He can’t help his past failings, but he can make amends by correcting the situation.

He goes to find the Marshall. As soon as he utters Otachi’s name, Herc Hansen’s eyes become cold and flinty, and Hermann knows he won’t be an ally in this. Still, he describes as best as he can the atrocious conditions the kaiju is kept in, and the possible disastrous repercussions on its well-being. The Marshall’s lips are pressed tightly together during his whole speech, and Hermann finishes with a sinking feeling in his guts. When he falls silent, Herc Hansen lets out a short, unamused bark of laughter : “Are you listening to yourself, Doctor Gottlieb ? This is not an abused pet we’re talking about. It’s a _kaiju_.”

“Yes, but…” Hermann could try explaining that no matter what it is, no matter what it’s done, treating a living being like that feels just plain wrong, but he doesn’t think it would help. There is something dark in Hansen’s gaze that says that he maybe hasn’t intended Otachi to suffer, but that he certainly doesn’t mind it. Hermann, not for the first time, wishes Pentecost was still alive. The former Marshall was a hard man, but never a cruel one. Then again, the comparison might be unfair. Hermann thinks of Stricker Eureka disappearing in a flare of light, taking with it Herc Hansen’s son and his best friend. Thinks of the blond man’s face shuttering whenever one mentions Scissure’s attack on Sydney, where he lost his wife choosing to save his son. He may not like the new Marshall’s stance, but he can understand it.

“I didn’t agree to let that damn beast live because I felt sorry for it, Doctor Gottlieb. I did it because you might be right, it might give us an edge over these bastards the next time they come barging in. Right now, it eats half of the Shatterdome’s food budget, prevents us from using a large portion of our workspace, is an incredible security risk, and, until I’m not too busy fighting for the program not to be dismantled to hire a biologist, is completely useless. What do you want me to do ? Empty the Shatterdome so it can stretch its legs and assign my only remaining Jaeger and its two pilots to babysit it ? Find funding I can’t afford to ask for at the moment to feed it more ? Risk my employees’ lives so it can feel more _comfortable_ ? I’m doing enough for it to stay alive until a biologist arrives, and that’s all. I’m not wasting time and money and taking unnecessary risks to spare the fragile conscience of a fucking kaiju lover.”

“Sir”, says Hermann sharply, stung.

“Sorry”, answers the Marshall immediately. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just… I already have a hard time convincing these damn politicians that the ostrich-like approach won’t cut it and that we need to prepare for a future invasion attempt. They’ve already stopped the Wall’s construction, but convincing them to redirect that funding into the PPDC is like pulling teeth. I have other things on my mind.”

“I’m not asking out of sentimentalism, sir”, says Hermann carefully, trying for another angle. “It’s just practical. As you said, we’re using a lot of money right now so our scientists can study a living, healthy kaiju. If they find a diseased, half-starved specimen with atrophied muscles upon arrival, it’ll be a waste of our resources.”

Herc Hansen stays silent a long moment, then sighs. “I’ll have Gypsy Danger wash the kaiju and the bay twice a week. I won’t take the chains off, though, that’s just too dangerous. And I can’t devote more money to feed it, but you can do it off your own salary if that’ll make you happy. Are you satisfied ?”

Not really, but Hermann knows there is no point in asking for more. “Yes, sir.”

 

The next day, Gypsy Danger steps in the main bay, armed with a gigantic hose in place of its usual weapon. Otachi tenses when it catches sight of the robot, but relaxes when its gaze falls on the hose. Hermann, looking at the scene from the observation room above, wonders at that. Does the kaiju recognizes somehow that the hose isn’t dangerous ? But how ?

Gypsy Danger begins washing the walls, and Otachi goes back to ignoring it. It doesn’t even flinches when the Jaeger turns the hose on him. The water trailing along its body and across the floor towards the drain is dark with filth. When the water finally cuts off and Gypsy Danger exits the room, the difference is striking. Otachi’s scales are pitch black and gleaming, the lights studded along its spine shining brightly like blue stars in a night sky. The kaiju’s profile cuts a sharp contrast with the walls and floor, now a light metallic grey. Hermann had expected the sight to raise his spirits, buoy him with the thought of having righted a wrong, and it does, a little. But with its splendour restored, the sight of the heavy harness around Otachi’s body, the tiredness in its stance, are even more jarring.

Over the next days, Hermann discovers that although he’s a man of few material needs, the part of his salary he can spare isn’t enough to feed a kaiju for an indeterminate amount of time, and he has to ask others to contribute. It isn’t pleasant. Hermann isn’t good with people in the best circumstances, his unease making him appear haughty and aloof, and soliciting them for money is a trying ordeal. Moreover, even when he chooses carefully his words, presents his initiative as a way to keep a precious specimen healthy instead of the endeavor to treat a living being decently that it really is, he is met with a majority of odd stares and scoffs. A few people outright laugh at him. Still, some do take his arguments seriously, and through dogged stubbornness he manages to gather enough to afford Otachi a reasonable diet. When, at the next meal, a larger than usual amount of meat falls around Otachi, the beast considers the food for a minute and looks directly at Hermann through the window of the little observation room, as if it knew he was the origin of this change. Not for the first time, Hermann wonders how intelligent it really is. Then it turns its head back and takes a piece of meat between its teeth, and Hermann departs with a shudder. He’ll never get used to this bit.

It isn’t enough. Hermann has done everything he could to improve Otachi’s treatment, but at every visit his eyes stray to its heavy harness and he can’t help but imagine the horror of a life spent unable to move. It’s pointless, though. Marshall Hansen has been clear on the matter, and anyway, Hermann can’t bring himself to want it free of its shackles. Hermann can’t, shouldn’t forget how dangerous the kaiju is, no matter how pitiful it seems right now, lying boneless on the concrete floor like its body is too heavy for it. The walls of the bay would crumble in a second against its formidable strength, and even the titanium restraints would be useless if not for the electrical shocks preventing the kaiju from putting too much strain on them.

The thought makes Hermann pause. The physical bonds aren’t truly what’s keeping the beast prisoner. They hinder it, but the electrical discharges are the key part of the system. If they removed the unyielding restraints, but kept a supple harness to deliver increasing electrical current through its body whenever the kaiju steps foot too close to the wall…  
This time, Hermann leaves the observation room unsettled and uncertain. In truth, the idea of the beast free to move as it pleases, a thin net of wires on its body the only thing preventing it from escaping and ravaging the Shatterdome, is so frightening that he cannot believe he is considering it. Still, logic tells him it should be as secure as the current system, and he can’t justify leaving the kaiju to suffer just to guaranty his own peace of mind. Over the next few days, he tests his idea extensively, calculates current intensities and distances, looks for weaknesses, holes in the design that would make it too risky to implement. But each fault he finds is easy to correct with a few adjustments, and soon he is confident that any escape Otachi could attempt would leave it unconscious before it could reach the walls of the bay. So he goes to find the Marshall.

Herc Hansen lets him detail the outline of his plan without interrupting him. When finally Hermann falls silent, the military man sighs : “You seem to have put a lot of thought into this. I won’t argue with you on the technical details, I’m no engineer. No, my only question is : why ? Why does it matter if it isn’t all that _comfortable_ ? Why does it matter so much to _you_ ?”

Hermann has to fight not to let his uncertainty show. Of course the Marshall would focus on this, the very thing he can hardly explain to himself. Here he is, finally at the end of the war that consumed his life for ten long years. He could have chosen to leave, get back to his country and his wife like so many other Shatterdome employees (and it is still painful and bewildering, not so much the thought of what he could have had, but that he doesn’t want it after all). He could have kept doing the job he loves but without the danger and the desperation, and used his free time to relax and go out and finally begin the books he’s accumulated but never had the time to read. But instead he spends his evenings alone in a little room at the heart of the Shatterdome, with only a chained monster for company. Instead he obsesses over the well-being of a creature whose race almost destroyed this world. He tends not to wonder about it, because if he did, he might have to admit that maybe he isn’t adjusting to peace so well. That he can’t let go of the urgency that’s shadowed his every moment for so long, that he doesn’t know what to make of his time except fight for a cause. That he may be as much a prisoner, in his own way, as the kaiju, two relics of war quietly breathing in the dark as the world moves on around them.

(Things would be different if Newton was here. Firstly, the man would be fighting for Otachi alongside him, twice as vocal and doing more harm than good by antagonizing the Marshall instead of playing along. But even then, he probably would also find the time to partake in the little parties that seem to crop up every few days all over Hong Kong and the Shatterdome for no other reason than “We’re alive ! And safe (for the time being) !”. And he’d somehow manage to drag Hermann along. But it’s no use thinking about that either.)

Since it obviously isn’t advisable to say all of that, Hermann has to make do with a tiny portion of the truth : “I feel responsible. I was the one who suggested keeping it alive.”  
“Your job is figuring out the physics of the Breach, not taking care of the kaiju. I’d like you to focus on it.”

“That’s not quite true, argues Hermann. Right now there isn’t anyone responsible for it. I might as well be, as I’ve been more or less filling the role of kaiju specialist since Doctor Geiszler’s death. And I can assure you I’m still working on my main projects. I haven’t let this distract me.”

Herc Hansen frowns, but says in a gruff voice that means he’s already caved : “If I accept your proposition this time, you won’t bother me anymore about this, understood ?”.

“Understood.” Hermann doesn’t really see anything else he could do to help Otachi, anyway.

“Consult with J-tech engineers, I want every assurance this plan is safe before I even think about implementing it. Good day, Doctor Gottlieb.”

“Thank you, sir. Good day.” Hermann leaves, careful not to let his triumph show on his face or in his tone. He has a meeting to organize.

 

In the end, it is surprisingly easy. Many people are ill at ease with the idea of the kaiju able to move unrestrained inside the main bay, but Hermann understand their fear and so knows how to appease it. As for those who still categorically oppose him, he dispatches all of their arguments with pure logic, and waits patiently until their protests are reduced to sputtering “I don’t like this”. Creating the new harness, nothing more than a few wires and batteries, shouldn’t take more than a day, and so its pose is scheduled in two days, after the bay’s bi-weekly wash.

Hermann watches from the observation room as Otachi is shocked into unconsciousness and Gypsy Danger adjusts the harness around its body. The wires are almost invisible against its dark scales, and when the Jaeger removes the heavy shackles around its limbs, Hermann can’t repress a shiver of apprehension. There are just a few people in the small room with him, most of the Shatterdome employees having decided to watch the scene from the bay’s cameras, safely gathered inside the LOCCENT control room, and they are all looking decidedly uneasy. Even Hermann, who conceived this system and defended it, demonstrated a dozen times its safety, can’t help thinking fearfully that a barbed fence (placed around the room a few meters from the wall, more to demarcate the perimeter around which the kaiju can move freely than to hinder its escape) and a small transparent panel are the only physical barriers separating them from the beast.

Long minutes pass before the kaiju shows signs of regaining consciousness. A few spectators have wandered off, bored by the wait. Otachi comes back to itself slowly, raising its head and blinking repeatedly as if confused. Its gaze falls on Gypsy Danger, waiting on the periphery of its cell, and it visibly stiffens. It surges to its feet – there everyone simultaneously and involuntarily takes a step back, bracing for it to attack, but it doesn’t, simply stands there and stares at the Jaeger warily. For a time, nobody moves. Until Otachi simply turns away to inspect the fine net of wires running along its body, rubs its head against it to dislodge it. When it proves fruitless, the kaiju starts walking, slowly, as if expecting heavy chains to stop it at any moment. It goes directly to the barbed fence at the edge of the room, extends its head cautiously, only to immediately recoil as a low-intensity current runs briefly through its harness – a warning. It walks along the fence for a while, keeping close but never touching it, then stops and curls up on the floor, as if going to sleep, but its wary gaze still locked on the Jaeger on the other side of its cell. After a moment of stillness, Gypsy Danger leaves the cell, and as if that signaled the end of the show, the spectators began to trickle out of the observation room. The test has been passed, the security measures judged satisfactory.

Hermann stays. It is only a hunch – he has noticed the way Otachi has briefly glanced to the window of the observation room immediately after seeing Gypsy Danger, the deliberate way it has moved, the tension that has not left its muscles during the whole episode, even now that it seemingly rests. He waits, minute after minute stretching endlessly and the kaiju completely (too completely ?) still in the center of its cell. He is considering leaving, or at least retreating to the LOCCENT control room to observe more discretely via the bay’s camera, when Otachi stands up fluidly. It stretches and shakes its immense body, not unlike a dog getting out of the water. It’s somehow at the same time ridiculous and impressive, and so much more genuine than the kaiju’s earlier stilted movements. Hermann barely dares to breathe, lest it remembers his presence. After thoroughly stretching its aching muscles, it turns its attention to its new harness. This time, its inspection is much more meticulous : it follows the net with its tail, visibly taking note of the place it can’t reach, at the base of its tail, as if it knows that this is where Hermann chose to put the generators powering the restraints. After a brief hesitation, it hooks its tail under a wire and pulls sharply. Hermann gasps and tenses, but Otachi crumbles, wracked with spasms from a powerful electrical shock, before it can snap the wire in two. Hermann relaxes. He already knew that his calculations were correct and that the kaiju wouldn’t be able to break free, he wouldn’t have proposed this system otherwise, but it still is relieving to have confirmation.

In the bay, Otachi is slowly recovering from the shock, and straightens unsteadily, then seemingly changes its mind and lets itself fall on its flank, head resting on the floor in a strangely unguarded pose. It uses its tail to scratch its shoulder, its slack muscles and lowered eyelids somehow broadcasting very clearly its relish at being able to do so freely. The creature truly is a mystery, thinks Hermann. He can’t reconcile the beast that ravaged Hong Kong, the predator that almost ate him, with the elusive ghost that lurked in the depths of the ocean and avoided confrontation, and with the prisoner now before him, closed off and wary in front of people but candid and clever when it thinks itself alone. He takes a few steps towards the doors, suddenly uncomfortable with observing the kaiju without its knowledge, when a strange sound stops him. Otachi is looking in his direction and… _trilling_ , a small, melodic sound that really shouldn’t be able to leave the throat of such an imposing monster. Apprehension twists his stomach at being pinned under the beast’s gaze, but it is still lying on the floor with its body relaxed, not a hint of aggressiveness in its attitude. After a few moments, Otachi lowers its head and closes its eyes. Hermann lingers for a few seconds, then leaves, mind churning with contradictory emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew ! I didn't expect having so much trouble writing this chapter. I'm still not quite satisfied with the system I've devised to keep Otachi prisoner, it might require a little suspension of disbelief to work. Please tell me if you find it too unrealistic.  
> Next chapter will be Newt's POV.


End file.
